How should he put it? Deathstroke had actually been in quite a good mood. After all, being lifted high and tossed around by countless little squirrels while they made adorable cries, like work chants as they loaded someone into the Human Cannonball, really was hilarious.
But the environment he was in now was like a basin of cold water, swiftly draining away the joy in his heart and leaving behind only cold space for thought.
Just as Strangle had described, this was a somewhat aged corridor. The lower half of the walls was painted an old-fashioned green, while the upper white walls did not look all that white either, instead seeming to flicker between brightness and darkness.
He tested the concepts he had mastered, and the feedback was that this corridor had no end. It stretched endlessly into the darkness ahead, remaining the same all the way to the limit of Deathstroke's perception.
In other words, there was only one path, stretching roughly as far as the diameter of a multiverse.
Thinking of it that way, it seemed like good news.
But there was bad news as well: countless rooms lined both sides of the corridor. Every door was closed, and no one knew what lay behind them.
Or perhaps the doors were merely some kind of manifestation. There might be nothingness behind them, or perhaps opening one would bring him face-to-face with CAAT? If he was lucky enough.
"Eek."
The Symbiotes made a sound, reminding its host to take out the item first.
"Mm, you're right." Su Ming took the tiny pyramid-shaped object from his waist pouch, then lightly flicked it with a finger, injecting a trace of energy into it.
It trembled, but the corridor gave no response.
"Tsk, looks like this isn't the place. There's no similar