Chapter 14: The Inferno

All eyes followed Zachary Princeton as he took the ballroom stage, the orchestra's rousing dance number fading with overhead lights. Every year, the Princeton Ball hosted a spectacle of some sort and tonight promised to deliver right on cue. Lords and ladies murmured in hushed tones as the dwindling illumination came to rest solely on the imperious figure of Lord Princeton.

"I hope you will all forgive my intrusion into the night's proceedings," Zachary intoned as the orchestral waltz drew to a polite close. "I see that our wine has been steadily resupplied and the dance floor continuously occupied, so I shall take that as some small measure of the success of this year's Princeton Ball."

Exuberant applause broke out in the crowd, with the abstention of Cameron Locke, Diana couldn't help but notice. He stood preternaturally still, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Tonight's entertainer is a woman with powers far beyond our mortal ken. She has dedicated her life to the perfection of the dark arts, a craft passed down through the generations. Her magic will confound you, her beauty will mesmerize you. And so it is without further ado that I present the Mistress of Mystification herself, Zatanna Zatara!"

As if on cue, Zachary Princeton disappeared in a puff of thick, red smoke. Diana watched, transfixed as the plumes cleared to reveal Zatanna, her father nowhere in sight. Zatanna wore a similar getup to the one she'd sported when meeting Diana. A black top hat tilted roguishly on her head, failing to restrain her ebony curls. Her lips were ruby red, her eyes surrounded by dark shadow. Her tuxedo coat was impeccably tailored to her lithe frame, the rest of which was all-but revealed by finely netted stockings and embroidered boots with heels so high it was a wonder she could walk at all.

"Can you imagine?" It was Andrea, using her 'Ruby' brogue and coming to stand beside Diana. Onstage, Zatanna was launching into the introduction of her show, striding effortlessly across the stage to introduce a dizzying array of props and gadgets.

Diana looked around for Bruce, but in the darkness the task was impossible. "Imagine what?"

"Prancing 'round a stage in your knickers, not a care in the world," Andrea whispered.

Diana laughed, despite herself. "Compared to what we're planning it seems rather tame."

"Least we won't be half naked," Andrea remarked. A woman in front of them turned to offer a shush, but upon recognizing Lady Diana quickly returned her attention to the front.

"Where's Bruce?" Diana wanted to know.

Andrea kept her gaze ahead but a knowing smile touched her lips that had nothing to do with the (admittedly spectacular) feat of levitation Zatanna was currently performing. "Last I saw he was off with one of those Harlequin Foundation gents. Looked a bit piqued, too."

"Oh?"

"Indeed. Ever since your. . .meeting in the refreshment room."

Diana was glad for the relative darkness, if only to hide her involuntary blush . "Nothing happened."

Rather than reply, Andrea joined the rest of the partygoers in applauding. Zatanna had just turned her hat inside out to reveal a bouquet of roses. The sleight of hand was impressive if somewhat pedestrian.

"For my next act I shall require a fit and fearless gentleman from the audience. One among you willing to risk life and limb under my care."

Hands shot up around them. How surprising, Diana thought wryly, that so many of the men in attendance would want to subject themselves to the magic of Zatanna Zatara. Even less surprising was Steven, who thumped his chest and shouted, "I shall oblige!" He was nearer to the front but his height and broad shoulders made him stand out from the rest.

Zatanna strode sultrily to the lip of the stage, not kneeling so much as bending over to take a closer look at the Admiral. "Heracles," she observed. "Wearing the pelt of the Nemean Lion."

"You've a keen eye," Steven replied, an inviting rumble in his voice.

"Tell me, Heracles, are you a true believer in magic?"

"Sometimes," Steven said, openly flirting. Diana was not jealous so much as surprised that Steven would talk like this knowing she was in the audience as well.

"Mmm, well I'm afraid that won't do. I require a skeptic. Someone with a keen eye of their own who has thus far remained unimpressed. I intend to convert such a man if he is to be found here to tonight."

A ripple went through the crowd, the turning of eyes and heads toward a common focal point.

Cameron Locke.

Steven, recovering admirably from the snub, had turned to Locke as well. "A skeptic, you say?"

"Indeed," Zatanna said, stroking her chin thoughtfully. She looked right at Locke. "Are you such a man?"

If Locke was uncomfortable with becoming the center of attention, he didn't show it. "I have no desire to disrespect your performance, madam."

"Not to worry," she assured him. "I can tell from the set of your features that my tricks have failed to make a believer of you."

Locke smiled that humorless grin of his. "You could say."

"And what is your name, sir?"

"Cameron Locke."

"A fine name," Zatanna said in the tone of voice that suggested 'Northbert Poppletop' would have been a 'fine name' as well. "Will you consent to be the subject of my mystical experimentation, Mr. Locke?"

Diana's breath hitched in her throat. Zatanna was smooth as silk, no doubt about that. Locke would have been suspicious if she'd solicited his participation directly. But now it seemed as if it were the Admiral's idea. And with every eye in the ballroom squarely on Locke, he could hardly refuse.

"I suppose it's all in good fun," Locke allowed, his narrowed eyes and pursed lips revealing nothing.

Zatanna beamed down at him. "Excellent. Please, everyone, give a round of applause to our valorous volunteer, Cameron Locke!"

The spotlight followed Locke as he ascended the steps on the side of the stage and came to join Zatanna. Squinting, Diana could see the edge of the famed key that hung near his sternum.

"Can't be that easy, can it?" whispered Andrea, clearly thinking along similar lines. "Just nick it right off his neck?"

Zatanna seemed as if nicking anything could not be further from her mind. She was in her element, explaining the simple mechanics of her upcoming magical feat. With a deft flourish of her fingers, a large silver hoop appeared in her hand as if conjured out of thin air. It was no ordinary hoop, she was quick to assure them. In fact, this was the last remaining relic of the ancient sorcerer Felix Faust. With the correct incantation, the ring could act as a portal to another world. A world Cameron Locke would be lucky enough to see this very night.

"I understand the prospect of visiting a realm outside our own can be frightening," Zatanna was saying to Locke. "Before we begin, my conscience compels me to offer you one last chance to turn back."

Locke rolled his eyes. "Confident as I am that no such realm exists, I don't think that will be necessary."

"Very well." Zatanna languidly brought up the hoop, spinning in slow circles around her wrist at first. The revolutions grew faster and faster however as the silver ring disappeared into a humming blur. And then, with the snap-quick motion of a snake handler, Zatanna released the spinning dervish to hover in mid air. Electricity sparked at its edges, casting the room in starkly-shadowed contrast. With more and more gusto, the crowd began to applaud at the masterful display.

"By the Hosts of Xanadu!" Zatanna intoned, her fingers flying into an array of complex contortions and gestures. "By the Sigils of Azarath, by the Flames of Etrigan do I part the veil between worlds! I commend this mortal to thee, oh Denizens of the Unseen! GNIRB EM SIH YEK!"

The whirling hoop came to rest over Locke's head until the final indecipherable utterance from Zatanna. Then it slammed down around him like a falling curtain, leaving a puff of purple smoke and absolutely no trace of Locke himself.

"Bloody hell," Diana murmured, dumbfounded as she tried to blink away the spots in her eyes.

Andrea, wearing a similarly stupefied expression, could only nod.

The applause was thunderous by now and a nonplussed Zatanna nevertheless offered several deep bows in exchange for the audience's adulation. After a long minute she picked up the silver hoop and displayed its emptiness for the audience to see. Cheekily, she even poked her head through it as if looking for the vanished Cameron Locke.

"Now I understand that is something of an important figure in this city," Zatanna began. "So I shan't keep him from this mortal plane for long. However, to ensure that nothing goes awry during the Incantation of Retrieval, I will the aid of each and every one of you. Repeat these ancient words of power, lend me the magic innate within you all, and we shall make a believer of tonight!"

"Ancient words my-" Andrea started to scoff.

"NRUTER!"

"NRUTER!" repeated a confused but enthusiastic audience.

"EHT!"

"EHT!"

"DRATSAB!"

"DRATSAB!"

Lightning, or something very much like it, temporary blinding Diana and every other member of the audience. The acrid sillage of ozone and smoke wafted from the epicenter of the onstage explosion. An opaque cloud obscured the shape beginning to take form but as the air cleared, it soon became clear that Cameron Locke had been returned, none the worse for wear.

There was a collective gasp of astonishment as the flustered Locke took his first wobbly steps. His hands were at his temples as if he were afraid his face might fall off.

Zatanna took another deep bow. "I am a magician of my word."

The remaining minutes of the performance were filled with more routine magic fare. Sleight of hand, a sprouting flower, even a flock of pigeons conjured from the air. Diana found herself enthralled despite her best efforts. Perhaps there was more than flagrant impropriety to the magician after all.

A brush at her elbow as the spotlight faded. A vampiric apparition, gothic and foreboding, a sharp contrast to the exuberance around them.

Diana half turned, "I must say, Bruce-"

His terse reply cut her off. "It's time, Diana."

"Already? And Zatanna? She actually got it?"

Bruce patted his pocket and despite their recent estrangement, a smile tugged at his lip. "Magic."

Outside, Ruby Romano-Andrea- was waiting for them along with Alfred's carriage. Bruce and Diana had secreted out the back of the ballroom and through the service corridors. Cassie had agreed to provide an excuse for Diana if the Admiral or her father asked after her. Feminine maladies were not the most dignified excuses, but they had the advantage of provoking little scrutiny from men.

They were met with cold embrace of a winter's night and a few curious glances from scurrying servers. Not too curious- it would hardly be the first time that young couples had absconded through the service corridors for a bit of privacy.

Thankfully, no such behavior had occurred tonight. Such cold as this could rouse the inner Puritan in even the most amorous young suitor. The loading area in back of the building was clear.

Andrea took a contemplative draw from the pipe she was holding, a pipe that clearly wasn't hers. "I meant to ask earlier. Did the two of you enjoy the. . .refreshments?"

Diana chanced a sideways glance toward Bruce, only to discover that he'd guiltily done the same. Even a mask couldn't hide that.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said curtly

Andrea emptied the remains of her borrowed pipe and tossed it in the bushes. Then she rapped lightly on the carriage door. "Told you he'd say that."

The door opened and Alfred stepped out, furs bundled in his arms. "That you did, Ms. Beaumont. That you did." He cleared his throat. "I come bearing gifts. We've a long, cold ride ahead of us."

"Much appreciated," Andrea exulted, hopping into the carriage and wrapping one of the proffered fur cloaks around herself. "Ready to take down a criminal mastermind?"

Alfred clambered in place to take hold of the reigns while Bruce prepared to step inside.

And then suddenly he reversed course, slamming carriage door shut. "Hide!" he whispered tersely to Andrea. He grabbed hold of Diana's arm to halt her momentum.

Right before Steven Trevor burst out of the service exit, eyes blazing.

Stunned silence ensued. Bruce and Diana stood, frozen, outside of his personal carriage, her arm held tightly in his grasp, Andrea crouched inside. Steven Trevor came to a halt, taking in the scene, his features darkening, his mind clearly racing with prurient implications.

"Steven-" Diana started to say.

"Mr. Wayne, I must insist that you unhand her ladyship this instant! What is the meaning of this?"

"I instructed Cassandra Sandsmark to inform you," Diana pressed.

"Yes, I heard the silly girl," Trevor interrupted impatiently. "RIght before I heard from a fellow officer in attendance that Bruce Wayne was trying to abscond with you out into the night."

"I offered to escort Di- her ladyship home," Bruce cut in subtly squaring his shoulders to put himself between Diana and the Admiral. "There was no impropriety."

"You must be joking," snarled Trevor, scarcely a stride from Bruce. Despite the bare arms of his costume he didn't waver from the cold. "I know all-too-well the propriety of a so-called gentleman who seeks to take a woman into dark corridors and out of public view. Come, Diana, I will deal with this once you are safely inside."

"I'm leaving with Bruce." DIana's voice was firm, her chin high. It cut through the rising haze of an oncoming conflagration like a knife.

Steven took a step back, eyes darting between the two. "Have you taken leave of your senses? To go where? We're at your home!"

"Please just go back inside," Diana said. "I am sorry to leave you in the midst of this affair, but I would not be pleasant company for you and your. . friends in my current state."

"But you're company enough for Bruce Wayne?! Unchaperoned, in a carriage in the middle of the night?!"

"For a good friend, who was recently abandoned by his own escort, and with whom I have very urgent, very private matters to discuss."

The admiral cut her off with a sharply raised hand. "Enough of this. Bruce, you are out of your mind if you think that I can abide this arrangement. I don't know what you've done to Diana but I must say this is lower and more disgraceful than anything of which I thought you capable. I advise for your own health that you step into your carriage and leave while some token of my patience remains."

Bruce's response was to remove his mask with one hand, revealing furrowed brows and implacable eyes to match the admiral's. "I know it is a strange sensation for you, Steven, to be denied what you desire. Nonetheless, I shall have to disappoint you."

Trevor's jaw clenched even harder and his nostrils flared in a snort, not unlike the huff of a charging bull in the matador's ring. "That does it then." The last syllable came out simultaneously with his punch, a whip-crack right jab that was set to knock Bruce's lights out upon landing. The blow of a seasoned brawler. Blazing fast.

And predictable.

Bruce spun clockwise, his left palm scythithing inward, intercepting the admiral's forearm and forcing the trajectory of his blow to pass harmlessly by. He whirled through the most vulnerable part of the spin with his back turned, coming around with a vicious forearm strike to the side of Steven's head. The admiral tried to shift his weight and throw a countering left hook, but he was immediately robbed of his balance as Bruce swept his weight-bearing right leg out from under him.

The admiral pitched over, facefirst onto the ground. Scarcely two seconds, start to finish.

"Diana, you may enter the carriage. Alfred, I'll be right in, no need to disembark," Bruce said, dropping into a fluid squat next to a prone Steven Trevor. "I just need a word with the admiral."

Trevor moaned and rolled onto his side, sucking for wind that had been knocked out of him in the fall.

"Different than when we were schoolchildren, isn't it?" Bruce mused aloud. "You should have brought a few friends. Like old times."

Trevor flailed out in an attempt hit Bruce, an effort which was easily batted down. "You'll wish you were dead, Wayne," he gritted out. "And when his lordship hears of this-"

Bruce was already shaking his head. "But we both know that you'll not tell a soul what transpired here, admiral. Your pride would not allow for that tale to spread."

"I needn't tell a soul to settle this with you. Personally"

"Perhaps someday. But for now, you'll march right back into that ballroom." Bruce stood back allowing Trevor to gingerly rise to his feet. "I've been kind enough to leave you unscathed, despite your unprovoked attack. I have no wish to make an enemy of you."

Steven's jaw clenched. "And yet here we are. I shall be seeing you very soon, Bruce." He turned to Diana, now seated in the carriage. "You have made a fool of me, your ladyship. If you had made clear your utter lack of regard for me, I could have sooner gone about the business of forgetting you."

Her brows shot up in ire. "Made clear? Steven, you haven't the slightest idea what it is to be a woman in my position. Especially if you think that I encouraged your affections."

Steven wrapped the fur of his costumed Nemean lion pelt around himself, as if only now realizing the cold. "My prior affections, your ladyship." His words were slow, deliberate. "Nothing remains of the esteem in which I once held you. When this dalliance with Bruce Wayne combusts, as everything involving this man does, I shall not be there to douse the flames. No man will, not in this city."

"Well, that went well."

They were the first words any of them had said since speeding away from the Princeton Ball in the wake of the ill-timed encounter with Steven Trevor. They were far off the major roads by now, traversing trails that had not been tended in years or even decades. It was a well-built carriage, sleek and thoroughly insulated. However the cold and the constant jostling of uneven ground took some getting used to.

"Just the devil's luck is all," Bruce sighed. "Steven Trevor came for violence." He paused, shaking his head ruefully. "I obliged. Perhaps foolishly."

Beside him on the forward facing seat, Diana couldn't help but let out a sigh of exasperation. "You give yourself too little credit, and Steven too much. He attacked you. Your response was the picture of restraint. He was going to have to be put off sooner or later. If anything it's my fault for not telling Steven that I've no desire for a courtship at the moment."

Across from them, Andrea's eyes darted mischievously between the two. "At least not with him."

Diana's furious blush was only seconded by Bruce's suspiciously-timed coughing fit. He started to say something but Diana began speaking first.

"There's no use having secrets between comrades-in-arms."

"Diana-"

"No reason for her not to know." Diana turned back to Andrea. "Bruce and I did share a moment of wantonness. We both agreed it was a mistake, and that it would not happen again."

If anything, Andrea seemed properly chastened by the unexpected candor. "I. . .surmised as much, but it's really none of my business. I shouldn't tease." She pinned Bruce with a mirthful stare. "Though you'll have to find another escort for your next formal event. I prefer mes compagnons not to run off for bon-bons in the refreshment room with other women."

Which provoked a laugh from them all. Even Bruce had to shake his head ruefully. "You both have my word that I shall never inflict on another woman the burden of being my escort."

It was enough to ease whatever tension remained between the three of them, and especially between Bruce and Diana. To speak frankly about it had been terrifying, but ultimately painless. And while Diana still couldn't tell whether Andrea harbored feelings for Bruce as well, she knew that either way there was no enmity between the two women.

"I have something I want to say," Andrea announced, surprising both of the other occupants. "In many ways- in most ways - this has been the most miserable year of my life. Like you, I have seen the evil in this world and paid more dearly for it than I ever.. The murder of my sister left me in a malaise of isolation. Betrayed by the authorities of my own city. Hunted like a fox. I must confess that when you found me at Leaning Birch, Bruce, I was in the midst of contemplating my own suicide. Not that this is a recurring thought mind you. But I was utterly, completely alone. Hopeless. Until I met you, Bruce, and you, Diana. You've become my sole compatriots in a world gone mad. You've become my friends."

"And you, ours," Diana couldn't help but say immediately, confidently she spoke for herself and Bruce.

Andrea turned to Bruce. "I know we've had our disagreements. But what we're doing now is a gift. You saved my life. Helped me fight back. I shall never forget it. We are, all of us, united by a warrior's bond. We've survived against Locke and his minions. And he underestimates us. It's a mistake he'll live to regret."

"This is it," Alfred's shouted announcement cut in. "As far as we can go carriage. The rest of your ascent will be on foot."

"Showtime," Bruce murmured.

A half hour later they were assembled.

The cliff wall was vast in size, far more intimidating than even the top of Wayne Manor. Compared to this, those drops had been paltry. Barely worth the name. Below, glittering in the vast, dark clearing, was the infamous complex. It looked deceptively small down there, from so high in the air. But Bruce knew the illusion was deceiving. By engineering alone, it was an incredible feat.

Long, boxy metal shacks accounted for most of the space. Then there were the towers and the silos. The towers were posted periodically around the perimeter of the complex, many stories tall. The silos were much thicker and squatter. Not as tall, but both of them belched foul-looking smoke into the night air. And the noise. Even from afar they could hear the clanking of machinery and the hum of human activity.

"You're quite the sight," Diana observed, stepping back from the cliff edge to address Bruce. She and Andrea had taken turns dressing inside the carriage while Bruce had gallantly done so in the woods. Alfred had complained about the difficulty of procuring all the items they needed, but his false modesty was more than apparent. They had been armored by the best, and it showed.

All three wore black, fitted trousers and shirts over full-body stockings, maximizing protection against the cold. Lightweight metal armor, also painted black, covered vital areas on the chest and extremities. The weight was cumbersome, but it was the best way to balance mobility and protection. Their boots were steel-toed, soft underfoot. Their bandoliers carried chloroform rags, tranquilizing darts and an array of smaller, bladed weapons.

More customization set their apparel apart. Diana had requested a sword and bow, comfortable as she was with both implements from countless hours of fencing and archery. The blade Alfred had procured was abbreviated for mobility and almost perfectly weighted. The bow, a compact, takedown design was clearly a custom made hunting instrument. Both fit snugly into leather holsters strapped to her back.

Andrea also had her Winchester carbine in a back holster. No practice shots for obvious reasons, but as she rehearsed clearing leather it was clear that anyone down the sights of her barrel would be in for a rough night.

When Bruce merely hefted his signature cane, no one could miss Diana's skeptical eye. "Hardly seems practical, as weapons go. Knees aren't what they used to be?"

"Oh I've seen him in action with that thing," Andrea cut in. "No ordinary walking stick, that."

Bruce gave the cane an uncharacteristically flamboyant twirl, catching it dexterously mid-rotation. "Practical enough. Are we ready for the final touches?"

As if on cue, Alfred came out with three gliders, all in folded position. "Inspected and re-inspected," he announced. "Godspeed."

Fastening the gliders was comfortingly familiar. Just like on the roof of the manor. Colder, windier, but familiar.

It was the cliff edge that almost made Diana lose her balance. She'd prepared herself for the vertigo but it still hit her. Something deep and primal in the core of her being, screaming that death awaited over the edge.

She looked at Bruce. He winked at her and pulled up the edge of his scarf up over his mouth and nose. Large goggles came down over the remaining sliver of exposed face. He looked like a nightmarish apparition.

She turned to Andrea. Just in time to see the other woman jump.

Here we go.

Diana leapt.

The air hit her. It was a physical thing, unimaginably powerful. It wanted to batter her. Blow her off course. She barely remembered to open the glider wings. The sudden resistance whipped her into a momentary tailspin. Her vision blurred. Her ears popped.

And then, stability. Training and muscle memory took over. She knew what to do. The glider responded to the rotation of her arms. It was like catching the air. Not all of it. She'd be ripped apart. Just a bit. Just enough to slow her descent. To ease the harsh downward trajectory into something survivable.

She landed perfectly, collapsing the wings just in time to alight into a graceful somersault. Bruce would be proud. He'd be-

Thump

The storied detective landed in an ungraceful tangle of rolling limbs. To his credit he was on his feet with an athletic, jackknifing leap. But when his eyes met hers she couldn't help but smirk. I saw that.

Andrea was the last to land, coming down a good ten meters out. She was close to the illuminated gaze of the far spotlight, but that was good enough. No alarms, no cries of alarm. So far so good.

She was beaming. "What terrific fun!" She practically had to shout it. On the ground level, the mechanical clanking of the compound's machinery was practically deafening. Their stealth accoutrements could not have been less needed. A full marching band playing Sousa could have passed, unnoticed.

Bruce unsnapped his harness, the women following suit. I'll be right back, he said. I'm going to place the charges and take some photographs."

Diana and Andrea exchanged curious glances. This was the one part of the plan that they weren't as informed about. Bruce had promised that his explosives could create a whole and a solid metal wall. Either he was right, or they had effectively trapped themselves in a mechanical graveyard.

He returned with the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Watches synchronized? Good. We have thirty-seven minutes. Let us not waste them."

The trio made their way around the outer perimeter, avoiding spotlights where possible. There was the occasional guard on duty, but their attention was focused outside the walls. Getting in, as challenging as it was, had the benefits of shielding them from most scrutiny.

Not all scrutiny, however. was one particularly sharp corner they turned that yielded first contact with the Enemy. He could not have been more than 19 or 20 years old. His uniform was the same drab green has the other security Personnel at Glimpse from afar. He carrying a pistol and whistle. Upon seeing three masked Intruders he took a split-second too long deciding how to react.

Diana's roundhouse kick caught him directly in the throat. He gagged and buckled but before he could fall backward, she grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him in for a devastating headbutt. The guard collapsed, noiselessly, onto a frozen ground.

Bruce had seen Diana in action and he still had to struggle to keep from staring in awestruck admiration. Andrea, for her part, pantomimed polite applause. "Well done, your ladyship."

A bit further in distance stood the first silo. They approached quietly, staying out of the intermittent beams of electrical guards stood at the door. They were joking with each other, plenty of laughs and shoulder patting to go around. The telltale wafts of shared cigar smoke rose into the air. Alert, they might have spotted the black-clad figures skulking in the shadows. Clearly, compound security was more form than function.

Andrea let out a low chuckle, muffled by the covering over her face. She turned to Bruce but cranked a finger toward Diana. "I'd wager all of her money that they're bragging about various sexual conquests of dubious veracity."

Bruce exhaled. Inhaled again. "Let's give them a good night's sleep." His voice sounded deeper now. Colder.

"Ladies first?" Diana suggested.

"By all means."

Bruce hung back watching Diana and Andrea work in tandem for the first time. They were a sight to behold. Lithe, graceful, and deadly. He doubted that he would've seen them at all in the deep shadows surrounding the guardhouse if he hadn't already known they were there.

Diana, stealthily creeping to within striking range of her quarry, went for the back of the knee first. A sharp kick and the man's legs buckled as he pitched backward, right into Diana's arms. No tender mercy to be found there, however. Instead, she cranked him into a half headlock with her left arm uncoiling beneath his armpit and around the back of his neck. With her right hand, she plunged one of the knockout darts into his carotid artery.

Simultaneously, Andrea had opted for a less artistic but equally effective approach. She'd tapped her guard's shoulder and bashed his head with the hardwood stock of her Winchester carbine. In the dead of night the bone-crunching impact would surely have been audible. But with the mechanical roar of the compound, it might as well have been a silent takedown.

Bruce let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. They were competent. More than competent, they were spectacular.

He joined them, unable to school the approving smile from his features. "Well done, ladies."

Diana exchanged a sly glance with Andrea before replying for the both of them. "We know."

"Let's get to it then."

They made their way to the first silo, which stood adjacent to a massive warehouse space. The spotlights were easier to avoid in the perimeter, and it soon became clear that sentries were few and far between. The site's defenses were far less adept at detecting threats inside the walls.

The front entrance to the factory warehouse was a perpetually-illuminated buzz of activity. Guards milled about and a crossbar lowered and raised periodically as massive, wide-bed motorized lorries trucked material in and out of the facility. Each vehicle was meticulously inspected by black-clad security personnel, perhaps evidence of the tightened security since Scott and Barda's earlier infiltration.

"We came prepared," Bruce reminded Diana and Andrea, both of whom seemed taken aback by seeing the facility up close. "And we practiced. A structure like this has myriad points of entry, only a few of which will be on the ground. We'll scale the side and use the upper windows. In and out."

Bruce went first, clambering up the vertical surface as though he'd been born to do it. The grapple line held. When he signaled that all was clear above, Andrea and Diana followed suit. No alarms raised. No suspicious guards. No one at all on this side of the compound.

Through the window, Bruce was crouching on catwalk, part of a large system of platforms that spanned the warehouse ceiling, far above the heads of anyone down below. Above even the hanging light fixtures that illuminated the factory floor.

Light aside, the interior of the warehouse was a complete sensory overload. The sound of machine presses and engines and metal being bent and reconfigured was indescribable. The sort of overwhelming cacophony that wasn't merely heard but felt in one's bones. Sharp explosive cracks alternated with percussive booms, sending vibrations through the metal walls and railings.

"It's like a circle of hell. Dante's Inferno," Diana said, her voice raising involuntary to account for the noise. It wasn't close to enough. She couldn't even hear her own words. Though she was glad of the material covering her mouth and nose. All the better to filter the unmistakable stench of burned coal, gunfire, and human misery.

Yes, there were humans down below. Hundreds of them. When Bruce passed the binoculars to her, she could see them up close. Wretched, hollowed souls chained to the floor and dressed in rags. Some were missing teeth, fingers, an entire limb. They were lined up along massive conveyor belts, assembling all sorts of progressively complex machines. Many, Diana didn't recognize.

Many, she did. Like the guns. No kind of guns she had ever seen, but guns all the same. They would begin as a disparate parts on one side of the factory floor and emerge on the on the other, ready to be packed into crates.

Diana was so dumbstruck that it took several taps on her shoulder to put the binoculars down. She turned to Bruce and Andrea, both of whom had seen nightmarish vision below.

What the hell had they gotten themselves into?